A Great and Terrible Era - The Orignal Marauders
by Raven Hazlewood
Summary: It started with a curse. Lord Voldemort is rising to power, but life continues for five unlikely friends at Hogwarts. Revelations about their pasts and the looming threat of war hanging over their heads threatens to destroy them. The curse that Voldemort put on his own daughter will cause her to have to make decisions that will affect the world in ways no one could have imagined.


**London  
Wednesday the 31st of December, 1959  
11:45 PM**

The woman held the small, wiggling bundle close to her chest, trying to shield it from the harsh cold of the late January evening. She walked quickly down the back alley of London, making her way in the dark as quietly as possible.

Every so often she paused to check behind her, sometimes switching directions to avoid being followed.

The rags she was wearing were hardly enough to shield her from the freezing winds. The babies cries had turned into soft whimpers and every time she glanced down at the babe the small girls lips would be a darker shade of blue.

She ran down another dark, damp alleyway, hurring as the first flakes of snow began to fall.

No less than five minutes later the wind howled, snow billowing in sheets all around her. Her shivering went bone deep, but all the same she clutched the baby as if it was her only reason for living.

It very well might have been.

Finally, she reached the large, double oak doors of the dilapidated cathedral. Keeping one arm protectively wrapped around the baby she pulled the massive door open wide enough to squeeze through.

She thought wistfully back to a time opening a door was easy. The thought quickly flitted away, lost in the wind now blowing in through the open door.

She knew she couldn't think that way.

Time was running out.****

London, St. Jerome Emiliani Church  
Wednesday the 31st of December, 1959  
11:55 AM

The proper church items were no longer present, giving the small cathedral a gloomy feel. The pews, stained glass windows, signs of the cross, candles, and even the wooden pews had been moved to the new building.

Despite this, there were still small piles of ash littered throughout the building, not yet cleaned up by unwilling workers.

This place had been condemned.

The woman, with shaky hands, laid the bundle down on what was left of the seared alter. The wind whistled in through the crack in the door, the woman having been too weak to close it all the way.

It was just as freezing inside the once blessed church, now damned after the fire.

She shook, pulling the blanket back from the sleeping babies head. Her lips were still blue, but the steady rise and fall of her chest calmed the woman.

The baby didn't move. Didn't cry. Didn't make a sound. Despite this she still whispered, "Hush...hush baby..."

The woman pulled out a long, silver blade inscribed with words unreadable due to the layer of rust.

With the tip she made a small prick into her own finger, the small wound immediately welling with blood.

It was the the middle of a snowstorm, yet she heard the sharp crack of thunder.****

London, St. Jerome Emiliani Church  
Wednesday the 31st of December, 1959  
11:59 AM

"Annabell." A soft, calming voice called out from behind the woman. She spun around in terror, her blood only a centimeter from the infant's forehead.

Although in the dark of the church the woman could not see it, the man standing in the fully open doorway smiled.

For the first time, the baby made a short, loud wail.

"Tom." The woman gasped in equal parts surprise and terror. She tried to step back, but was already pressed against the alter.

"Anna." The man said in a near whisper, his tone holding back rage that ran deeper than any trench. He took a step forward and the woman let out a small gasp, standing between him and the squirming baby. "Why did you run, Anna?" His voice was like silk. He made her sick.

"T-Tom...please..." She was unable to speak above a whisper, "I k-know you're angry. P-please don't hurt her..." The last words turned into a frightened sob.

*Ding* *Ding*

The church bells of the new church rang across the city, signaling midnight.

Signaling New years.

**London, St. Jerome Emiliani Church  
Thursday the 1st of January, 1960  
12:00**

He took two steps closer to the woman cowering in terror. In her eyes was unmasked, unchecked fear. Every step he took vibrated throughout the room.

*Ding* *Ding*

Something deep within him stirred. Remorse. Guilt. Whatever it was he didn't like it, didnt understand it.

He remembered a time when he had. He couldn't remember when he had lost the ability to feel.

*Ding* *Ding*

"Tom. Please." She whispered, unmoving in her place in front of the small baby. He touched the side of her face with one hand, with the other grabbing his wand out of the black cloak he wore. "She's your daughter." Whispered the woman, one single tear falling down her cheek and hitting his hand.

*Ding* *Ding*

"I know Anna." He whispered back, almost too softly to be heard over the billowing of the wind coming through the door. "I know." He pointed the wand at her chest. "I know." The woman closed her eyes, now completely void of tears.

*Ding* *Ding*

**"I'm sorry."** She whispered in only a language he would understand. They stood that way, without moving, for only a few seconds until the baby gurgled once more.

**"I know."**

*Ding* *Ding*

The bright green light illuminated the wooden walls of the church for less than a second. The woman slipped to the floor with a light thud. He felt the strange, mystic power wash over him. The same power he had felt only once before. He leaned down to pick up the long, silver knife the woman had dropped.

The tip of the blade was still stained with her blood.

*Ding* Ding*

He touched the tip of the razor blade to his own hand, making a small cut. When he looked down at the baby he was silently shocked to see her staring at him.

Her eyes were dark blue.

She didn't make a noise, and didn't look away. He felt the sharp pain, deep within his chest yet again.

He also felt the magic weakening.

Slipping away from him.

*Ding* *Ding*

He stood, unable to act. Conflicted, feeling something he had never known existed.

Closing his eyes and grimacing, he clutched his bloodied hand into a fist and leaned down yet again, this time taking the jewel necklace gently off the woman's throat.

*Ding* *Ding*

He bent back up, watching the baby looking so calm, so serene.

**"I'm sorry."** He whispered, hoping the small child could understand. She closed her eyes, and he felt a tear slip out of his.

*Ding* *Ding*

He held the necklace with his bloodied hand, touching both the necklace and the blood to the infants head.

As soon as it touched her skin the blood on both the necklace and her forehead disappeared.

He felt as if a gigantic weight had been lifted off him, the last of the Dark magic slipping away. He dropped the necklace so the thing rested on the swaddled babies chest.

The blue gem shimmered in the light of the lighting illuminating the sky.

He turned to walk away, out of the church, trying to force down the emotions welling up inside of him.

*Ding* *Ding*

The baby started wailing.

He forced himself not to look back, closing the large, double oak doors with a flick of his wand.


End file.
